


Love beyond written lines

by Donaji25



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Awesome Molly Hooper, F/M, Falling In Love, Fantasy, First Kiss, Sherlolly Big Bang Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-10 17:04:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5594047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Donaji25/pseuds/Donaji25
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is a famous writter. He's the famous author of "The aventures of Sherlock Holmes'". Sherlock is just a character in a book, running to aventures with his good friend Hamish in his imaginary world. Until something very strange happens one night while John works... The document starts typing itself. Hopefully, Molly, his editor, can handle the situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Year! Gifting this story to ny favorite fandom, special thanks to missallne for betaing this one (althoug any remaining mistakes are mine). This story was inspired by the idea that Moffay and Gatiss actually created Sherlock's soulmate in Molly, and the thought that he would happily wait and reach for her.

Sherlock looked up at Hamish, smiling at his friend, who had once again fallen asleep in the chair directly in front of him. He was talking in his sleep again, it wasn’t a usual occurrence. Every now and then Hamish would fall asleep and then start talking as if he was a completely different person.

 

“…Hello, Molly?” Hamish mumbled “Hey, I just finished the next chapter… yes, I can send it to you now if you want… or, tomorrow morning, depends on how busy you are…” His voice sounded like any other dormant person’s would sound, slurred and heavy. But Sherlock always wondered why it didn’t change or have funny pieces like any other dream induced speech.

 

It was always about books, or writing anyway. He would talk to a woman named  _ Molly _ , and sometimes, mention a man called  _ George _ or  _ Geoff _ … something like that. He often had long conversations with a  _ Mary _ about domestic stuff. Seems like in his dreams Hamish had a peaceful life, full of normality, unlike the reality they lived in, with all those mastermind criminals, murderers and terrorists. 

 

Sherlock often wished their life was quieter. He wondered how it would be to have a day off. Maybe not like a vacation day, but a day that didn’t end with him having to run behind a criminal at the end of the day. A day where his only concern was which restaurant to call for dinner. 

 

He wondered if it was possible to make his way into Hamish’s dream. Maybe if he talked to him…

 

“Hamish?” he said while still listening to the telephone conversation his friend was having in his dream, he waited to see if Hamish had listened to him “Hamish? Can you tell me who Molly is?”

 

For a moment he wondered why he had asked that. He could have asked something else, or even suggested something and then asked Hamish about it later to see if he had somehow influenced his friend’s dreams. Well, it was obvious anyway. Hamish talked about her a lot. He was talking to  _ her _ right now, and she seemed to be one of the most interesting characters in his mind. And to be honest, Hamish seemed to have something for Mary and he didn’t want him to get angry because of his questioning.

 

The expression on the sleeping face of his friend changed, Sherlock leaned forward in his chair and waited.

 

Ooooo

 

John blinked. That couldn’t have just happened…

 

“Sorry Molly, I’ll call you back, I need to see… something” he said pressing the hung up button of his mobile and walking towards his laptop. It couldn’t had just happened. He must be really tired. Had his program just added a few more lines to his work?

 

He blinked confused at the screen confused, looking at the recently added text in front of him…

 

It seemed as if…

 

No, that couldn’t be. It was impossible, there had to be another explanation… And then a sudden thought made him nervous: hackers. It had to be, they had reached him, and now they were going to steal the latest chapter he had wrote and leak it on the internet… Damn, he was really going to need to go and see Molly to solve this one.

 

He approached the machine as if it were going to explode, clicked the save button on the file and closed it, and then proceed to turn it off and then disconnect the WiFi modem. It could help, at least a little, to stop them from stealing anything else from his documents, which at least made him calm down. Now it was anger and frustration what he felt, and something akin to shame… ah, worries, worries, worries! But somehow it just didn’t make sense, why would they  _ add _ to the story…

 

Now he just felt anger and frustration and something akin to shame

 

Ooooo

 

“What do you mean someone hacked your lap? How do you know?”

 

“Look Molly I just wanted to know if your IT team can search the internet in case there has been a leak so I can change part of the text. I don’t know if it was hacked, or if it has a virus so I’m bring in it here so you can see the original file, tell me what we should do and do something.”

 

“Ok, ok, calm down John. I’ll call the specialists, we’ll have your computer checked and everything will be ok. But I had already told you to work without the internet on, it’s not only distracting but, with your level of popularity, dangerous for your work.”

 

“You’re right, sorry Molly, I’m just nervous. This has never happened to me before… What if they also copied part of my personal documents? There are… some… uhm photos that are quite personal in there.”

 

“John Watson do you have porn on your laptop?” asked the woman currently accompanying him. He knew she was trying to make him relax, but he wasn’t really in the mood, so instead of replying he just made a face and looked to the other side. 

 

The following morning as soon as John had woken up he had called Molly to let her know about the problem with his computer. He wasn’t really sure what had happened, and though his editor was very patient he tended to be a bit paranoid.

 

He took a deep breath and walked around Molly’s desk to sit on the chair opposite her. Molly had agreed to see him right away, telling him to find her in her office with his laptop so she could give him her opinion. The thought of having lost some part of the work he had already done was unbearable. Ever since his books started selling he worked hard for moths to manage a decent style.

 

Molly sat in front of him wearing one of her most colorful jumpers, her hair in a ponytail, and her glasses on. She opened the machine and turned it on, glancing briefly at John. He seemed stressed for what had happened. While the OS started Molly pulled the phone on her desk towards her and called IT.

 

“Anthea? Hello, how are you?... Fine, but listen… John had a problem with his laptop last night and he’s concerned some of the text might have leaked to the web… yeah, could you please do a quick search and see if anyone has mentioned something about it? I can send you part of the text later so you can run a match-program… yes, thank you.” Molly hung up and sighed. At least that part was being taken care of.

 

She looked once again at John who was looking at her from between his fingers; then looked back to the laptop in front of her opening the latest file used.

 

She scrolled through it, checking the text as it went went, her eyebrows raised. John had worked already more than she had expected.

 

She stopped at the very last lines on the document, reading the paragraphs to have some context on the problem John said he was having… That must be wrong somehow… 

 

“John?” She said clearing her throat and leaning back on her chair.

 

“Yeah what is it?” John asked, alarmed once more.

 

“Did you introduce a character named after me in your story?” 

 

“No, why?” he said as he stood up and reached for the machine.

 

“Well, this last bit in the text, it mentions my name… I thought…”

 

Reading the final text written in the document, under the last paragraph he remembered writing, made John go pale.

 

_ Sherlock noticed that his good friend had once again succumbed to exhaustion, thinking once again on the calm and quiet life some people get to live, and all the troubles and difficulties that his job came with. Surely it wasn’t fair for either Hamish or him to live such a troublesome life, but he could do nothing about it. He loved his job after all.  _

 

_ He smiled, amused, when his friend started sleep talking again. He was sure that Hamish dreamed of a normal life, he had heard him before…  _

 

_ Only this time it was different, he seemed to be having a conversation with someone, apparently someone called Molly. From his own research he knew some people where receptive to conversation while they were sleep talking, so he wondered if he could have a glimpse of Hamish’s subconscious. _

 

_ “Hamish?” he asked, not really expecting an answer from him immediately “Hamish, can you tell me who Molly is?” _

 

John looked up at Molly with a confused expression. He opened his mouth as if to say something but he couldn’t really explain it.

 

“What is it John?” Molly asked, smiling. She felt somehow flattered that John had thought of including her in his book, but the surprised expression on John’s face said something different.

 

John ran a hand through his hair, stepping back while looking once again at his computer. He sighed loudly, closing his eyes and looking once again at Molly.

 

“That… uhm, well, those… last three paragraphs… I didn’t write them. I swear Molly I didn’t… To be honest the chapter should have ended there, with Sherlock wondering a normal life… I-I called you right after finishing there, … at… at  _ he loved his job _ , that’s where I stopped and called you, I wasn’t writing after that, that’s what’s happened, something appeared on the program but I don’t know how, or …”

 

“John. John, calm down, please sit down and breathe, you’re scaring me!” Molly said, now really worried about her friend.

 

“By the look of it, this doesn’t seem to be a virus or something. Who could somehow know what you were writing about and want to add something in it?” she said, mirroring his earlier thoughts. “ It could only be someone following the story for a while to be able to do it, this is just weird… And yes, you mentioned that the chapter was already finished, but this kind of seems to fit with the story and it’s written in your style as well. Now what I’m more worried about is how did they know my name?”

 

John opened his arms in a silent question, feeling more scared as the situation progressed. “As I told you I was speaking with you when it happened, I mentioned your name on the phone; do you think I’m being spied on? I don’t know, with hidden cameras, microphones or … stuff?!”

 

“It could be… would it make you feel better if we call someone? Greg could send a team to your house and see if there’s any bug plugged in there and you can go to a hotel for a few days or stay with Mary… We’ll take care of this, don’t worry John, it was just a few lines and you can always delete them…”

 

“I guess so…” said John.

 

“And I will keep you informed about Anthea’s investigation, I’m sure this will be solved soon; take a few days off John. You really made a good advance of the story, I’ll keep your computer for a while, I’ll take it to someone so they could check if there’s any virus or spyware in it…”

  
“Okay Molly. I trust you.”


	2. Chapter 2

Molly Hooper had been an avid reader throughout the years. She loved good stories and while growing up she had became fond of intriguing tales, mysterious murders, and criminal chasing adventures, she also loved medical stories, with all the technical terms and detailed procedures that could be read from the minds of amazing writers.

 

John was one of her favorites, even when he wasn’t her only client. John not only had an amazing way to make up mysteries but his criminals were all very clever and their crimes were also (for the delight of her morbid taste) a piece of art. Once he had written a whole autopsy, from the begging to the end, for a story and she had loved it. Of course some parts of it had to be taken out because it was way too explicit for some readers.

 

She had dealt with viruses, spam, and hacking before; like in any other industry any leak of the newest product was gold for the hackers. She could completely understand why people wanted to know what happened in their favorite story beforehand, but that didn’t change the fact that it was stealing someone’s work.

 

Fortunately one of her friends held a minor position in the government, and that allowed her and her clients some extra protection against hackers. However, what John had presented her with that evening didn’t look like that. After running one of her own antivirus softwares and checking the firewalls in the installed program in the laptop, she couldn’t find anything wrong. She was still going to send it to Anthea the following day, but she was quite sure that her friend would find as much as her.

 

She had finished her shift at the office and left, taking with her not only John’s laptop but some other books that she had to approve before they could be sent to the printers. By eight o’clock she was already tired of reading. She could only recommend one of the three she had chosen and it was proving to be a hard decision. She would have loved to finish each of them before going to sleep, but somehow the curios thing that had appeared in John’s laptop was something that she couldn’t ignore for long.

 

With a sigh and feeling a little silly for going through with this idea, Molly opened the laptop and searched for the document that John had shown her earlier. 

 

_ Only this time it was different, he seemed to be having a conversation with someone, apparently someone called Molly. From his own research he knew some people where receptive to conversation while they were sleep talking, so he wondered if he could have a glimpse of Hamish subconscious. _

 

_ “Hamish” he asked, not really expecting an answer from him immediately, “Hamish, can you tell me who Molly is?” _

 

Molly placed her fingers over the keys on the board and waited, trying to think of something. She checked the screen, the wi-fi was off, and there was no other available network working in the surroundings, she should be safe.

 

She reread the last paragraph and the dialogue at the bottom of the page. Taking a deep breath and happy that there was no one around to see her so nervous at something that seemed to be stupid, she typed.

 

_ “-Who wants to know?-” _ she waited. 

 

Neither the pointer or the blinking spot on the document moved. For some reason her mind started the usual argument about her being silly, making remarks on how simple what she had written was and that if she really wanted something to happen then maybe she should try again with the wi-fi network on.

 

_ “Who wants to know? answered Hamish in the same slurred voice, sounding like an old man while moving to a more comfortable position in his chair. _ ”

 

_ Well, that doesn’t sound so simple anymore. _ She thought happy with herself for not being terrible at writing at least one sentence.

 

And then it happened…

 

_ “ _ **I** _ want to know” said Sherlock rolling his eyes, but avoiding making a comment on his friend’s obvious lack of conscious on the matter. _

 

Molly stared at the screen for a second, her heart thundering in her chest. Her hands had gone cold and she had to remind herself to breathe. This couldn’t be happening, there was no way… She stood up on wobbly legs, she was going to call Anthea right now and John too so they could handle the situation together.

 

She turned and looked at the screen again. If she called them now there would be no problem. It was still relatively early so they would be ready in a moment, but she will still be alone in her house with … whatever that was. The unknown…  _ thing _ that was answering her.

 

It was creepy enough for her to be afraid, but not enough to calm her curiosity. She sat back down, shaking her hands to calm the nerves that make them unsteady; she took another deep breath, closed her eyes and tried to think of something to type.

 

Anything…

 

_ Frowning his face as if in thought Hamish moved his head towards Sherlock, he scratched his chin absentmindedly and then answered. _

 

_ “Why?” _

 

Well that had come from nowhere…

 

Molly then leaned back on her chair and waited, crossing one arm over her body and chewing on one of her nails.

 

_ “You’re the one who’s been talking with her. I’m just curious.” Sherlock couldn’t hide the amused smile from spreading on his face; it was actually very funny to see Hamish put that act in front of him while sleeping. He wondered how real his dreams looked in his mind. _

 

Molly bit her lip, what could she tell? Who was she talking with in the first place? Should she keep communicating with whoever it was like this?

 

_ “Molly is…” _

 

She hesitated there, not really sure what to say to the stranger answering her. Even if it was somehow Sherlock she couldn’t know if it was right to tell him something about the differences in their realities… but if he wasn’t Sherlock (and she had to remind her self that  _ he wasn’t _ ), she couldn’t just tell him who she was…

 

_ Sherlock frowned, seeing Hamish’s face drift away as if he had just forgotten he was about to say something… _

 

_ “Hamish? If it’s easier for you I can tell you what I know about her already.” _

 

Molly looked around. Obviously there was no one there to meet her gaze, but thankfully her cat, Toby, had just happened to entered the room and look at his owner’s weird behavior to make her feel at least a bit normal.

 

_ “Please. Tell me” whispered the sleeping man in front of him. _

 

_ Sherlock looked at him suspiciously. For some reason it seemed like Hamish wasn’t really himself. There was no way to prove it of course, he could see him in the chair, moving his lips and answering him, but it felt different, as if someone else was talking through him. Surely his subconscious couldn’t had a conscious of it’s own. _

 

_ For some reason it seemed like Hamish wasn’t really the person he was talking to. _

 

_ Still he cleared his throat and stood up, walking towards the window and looking outside. _

 

_ “For what I’ve heard  _ Molly _ is a woman that works in the publishing business. She is probably an editor or an assistant to one, but judging by the way you describe to her part of your  _ books _ and how you talk about deadlines and sales, she’s not a minor assistant. She tends to help you find new ideas when you feel blocked, and she’s also a good friend of you and Mary, who is probably your dream-wife, for all I know. She must be young, intelligent, single and a very hard worker, though she’s probably shy and weird because you never mention a boyfriend.” _

 

Well that was rude, what could he care about her love life? Was it an indicator of anything? What if there were not enough men in the world able to understand her? It wasn’t her fault that the only interesting men that could understand her don’t like her  _ that _ way.

 

It suddenly occurred to her that the whole scene must be really weird in Sherlock’s world: for him to be talking with his sleeping friend as if he was talking with someone else. Maybe she could make some changes, see if the person answering her would follow their  _ narrative dialogue _ .

 

_ Hamish moved a bit in his chair, yawning and snuggling there, obviously comfortable. Seems like his chat with his sleeping friend was really over this time. _

 

_ Just then the sound of an incoming e-mail beeped from the open laptop on is desk, Sherlock looked towards it, wondering why it seemed to require his immediate attention. _

 

Ooooo

 

Sherlock wasn’t really the type to be checking his mail the moment it arrived. Sometimes he had Hamish deal with an inbox full of a week or two of messages that he wasn’t interested in, but somehow he had the feeling that this message was important. Feigning indifference he approached the machine and opened the mail.

 

It was a weird message, it didn’t had an address where the sender would be, the message seemed to be part of half a conversation, and he wondered for a minute if it was even intended for him.

  
  


Would you mind if we keep talking like this?

 

M.H.

 

He looked around, hearing the now gentle snoring of his friend on the chair. Well there was nothing wrong in asking if the message was for him. Maybe the sender would send and apology and keep talking with the other person. But the lack of an e-mail address made him doubt if it would be sent anyway.

 

He clicked on the reply button and typed.

 

Sorry, who is this? Your message has no ID so I don’t know who I’m talking with; if this message was not intended for me then I should ask you to check your data. 

 

Sherlock Holmes

Consulting Detective

 

He clicked on the send button and saw with a bit of amazement that message was actually sent. A minute or so passed after he sent the message. He was starting to think that it had actually been a mistake and that the strange feeling that it had been something else was just that, a strange feeling.

 

He started scrolling over old messages to distract himself. Some of his clients had some very easily solved cases, and he entertained himself giving them solution. After all he had nothing better to do that night, and he wasn’t feeling like sleeping anyway.

 

Suddenly the notification alert went off again and he clicked on the inbox message to check the new one. Again the message lacked all identification data. He could see that it had been replied from the one he had previously sent. It was a whole new mystery and he had to admit that it was a bit exiting.

 

No, sorry. The message was really for you  _ Sherlock Holmes,  _ I just thought it would seem a bit more normal this way than the other. Is there anything else you know about Molly? Or would you like some more details about her?

 

M.H.

 

Sherlock had a weird feeling in the back of his head, like a shiver. Was someone watching him? And if so why would they be interested in a conversation he had just had with his sleeping friend? He stood up slowly as if not to raise suspicion, he walked towards the kitchen and proceeded to watch the living room with a critical eye.

 

He knew the place perfectly, every book, every piece of furniture, he would be able to know if someone had entered and planted a camera or something like that in the room with a simple examination. The weird thing was that nothing seemed to be out of place.

 

After a moment of checking details of little spaces he reached for his mobile in his trousers pocket. Using speed dial he placed the phone next to his ear and waited.

 

(“Hello brother dear. To what do I own the pleasure of having you call?”) the voice of his elder brother came from the other side of the line.

 

“Mycroft have you been in my apartment again?” he asked knowing that his brother could be the intruder from past experience.

 

(“No, the last time I went was almost a month ago. Why?”) He seemed really unaware of his current predicament.

 

“I thought you or your team might know. I think someone’s been watching me, I just wanted to make sure that it wasn’t you.” He could hear the sound of his brother’s breathing on the other end; a frustrated sight meant he wasn’t really happy about that subject.

 

(“Not for a while certainly. You keep taking off all my equipment.”) He smiled briefly to himself.

 

“I’m just taking care of my privacy, thank you.”

 

(“How do you know you’re being watched?”) Mycroft asked, sounding all business-like now.

 

“I’ve been having an interesting conversation. By the way do you happen to have information about a woman called Molly? I know you did research into Hamish’s past, maybe and ex-girlfriend?” He said trying to at least get something from this call.

 

(“I don’t recall having her name on his record, but I’ll check”)

 

“Got to go, I think I have some bugs to catch” Sherlock said, thinking that now he had to check every surface and nook in his flat to know what was being used to spy him.

 

(“At least something to entertain yourself, good luck Sherlock”) a bit annoyed he ended the call and returned to his laptop.

 

“Who are you?” he asked out loud, just in time to see another message arrive in his inbox.

 

If I wasn’t living it, I wouldn’t believe it. You even  _ called _ Mycroft and made a good description of his personality. Since when have you been reading John’s book? How much do you know about the characters? Who are you?

 

M.H.

 

At that comment Sherlock immediately pressed the reply button and started typing a reply.

 

I could be asking  _ you _ the same question. I don’t know who you are or how you are aware of what’s been happening in my flat. Who are you? What do you want? How do you know about Mycroft’s personality? And who’s John? I understand the bit about the books must be part of Hamish’s dreams, but I can assure you, all I know about those books, is that they’re in his mind. I don’t know anything about characters, and I don’t know what you’re previous message means, really.

 

S.H.

 

Ooooo

 

Molly had watched in amazment at how the text had kept developing in front of her eyes. I was incredible how well this person knew the story’s universe. It was as if he was John writing the whole scene and making it believable. She was even considering telling him who she was and asking him if he was interested in writing his own book. It was brilliant.

 

The way he described Sherlock’s reaction, how he had even pulled Mycroft into the scene and made him communicate with Sherlock. However the lack of response from his part was suspicious. There was something more than a missing piece that made this whole thing weird.

 

She scratched Toby’s head softly; the cat had at some point came to rest on her lap while she was reading the scene that was supposed to be developing in the story.

 

She wondered what else she could do; maybe she could try to catch him by telling the truth, see how it will react if she just let it said straight out what was going on.

 

_ Sherlock crossed his arms while glaring at the screen, his mind already trying to work out what kind of person he was dealing with. Maybe it wasn’t dangerous right now, but what was their real motive behind this? He was about to write another message to the mysterious person talking with him, when another message arrived. _

 

_ “Ok, got to be honest with you. I am Molly, Molly Hooper. I’m John’s editor and manager, as you said I am his friend and I help him with everything that has to do with his stories. And don’t lie, you know the characters very well. You are actually keeping Sherlock in character and you know Hamish is just the way John writes him to give himself the pleasure of being in the story with his main character; Hamish is a version of himself. You’re a very talented writer for what I can see. If you want I can see you in person and we can talk about you writing a book of your own. You have talent, you shouldn’t just hide and use someone else’s work. _

 

_ What do you think? If you want we can make an appointment, I just need a name and a number, everything else we can work it out by phone. _

 

_ M.H.” _

__

 

Molly then smiled to herself, that had to be a great offer, and it helped her with the problem this was causing to John. It also gave the chance for this person to get his or her own stories brought to life and make something more useful than hacking and pretending. Yes, it was a good action, something that could solve the whole situation for good.

 

To her surprise the words that appeared in the document were not really what she was expecting.

 

_ Sherlock had to read twice what had been written in the message. What was this? A joke? A new way to confuse normal people? If he wasn’t as clever as he was he would have disclosed important information to a faceless person and put himself in danger. But to be honest, what this person claimed didn’t even make sense, anyway. It was upsetting that this person could think that he could fall for it. He was a genius, not some stupid person! He couldn’t help but feel a little offended. Maybe the whole thing with the  _ invisible e-mail address _ had to do with this new way to trick people. _

 

_ His mind started planning a way to get as much information as he could about this  _ Molly Hooper _ , if that was even her real name. Maybe another message wouldn’t hurt. _

 

_ “This is getting too far, don’t you think? Trying to manipulate me into giving you information. What’s next giving you the number of my bank account? I don’t think so. Anyway, what you say doesn’t even seem real. How can you talk about real life as if it was being written as a story? You may be spying on me but I can assure you that nothing happening here is being narrated by a third voice in the background. I have no reason to doubt who I am, but I can’t be sure about you. So let’s make a deal. I know someone who can keep my information safe, and for what I can see with your non-existent e-mail account you can do that too with your own, or you have someone who can do it. Let’s exchange numbers. You can call me, and I can call you. _

  
_ S.H.” _


	3. Chapter 3

Molly thought about it for a moment. She had already given him some of her information without thinking that maybe he could use that against her. It seemed clear to her that maybe that wasn’t his intention at all. The problem now was a question that she was very curious about. If she was talking to a person in the real world then her phone was going to ring, but if she was talking with Sherlock Holmes… was it possible to make a phone call like that?

 

Not really sure why, maybe because her curiosity and her nerves were making things hard for her, she typed once again.

 

_ “Fair enough, I’m attaching my number to this message, and in exchange I want you to send me  _ your  _ number. No tricks, I want to be able to call you as well! - M.H.” said the e-mail that had just arrived. _

 

_ Upon opening the attached file on the message Sherlock considered not sending his own number. Maybe if he send it to Mycroft it would make finding Molly Hooper easier. But there was something, he couldn’t tell what it was. Before he could think it twice he typed a reply with his own number in the message. _

 

_ “Call me then. S.H.” _

 

Molly looked at the recently typed message on the screen. There was no number. She felt cold suddenly, fear making her shiver. Of course neither of them had given any real numbers. Why was she so apprehensive? 

 

_ Sherlock pulled out his mobile and started dialing the number. He felt exited, and for that he chastised himself. He was not a kid or a teenager to be nervous about calling a girl! He was an adult and she was just a woman. There was no need for this childish behavior. _

 

Molly nervously reached for her mobile in the pocket of her jumper, noticing the slight tremble of her hand as she looked at it.

 

And then it rang.

 

Toby jumped off of her lap to the floor at the sudden jump she gave in her place when it happened. Molly giggled a bit, shaking all over. She took a deep breath and looked at the screen of her mobile…

 

She exhaled half in relief, half in disappointment. It was just John calling her. For just a moment she had thought… 

 

“Hi John” she said unable to keep the breathlessness off her voice. She had been so nervous.

 

(“Molly, I just called to tell you that I’m staying with Mary for a few days, so if you need anything call… Are you okay?”) Said John finally taking note of Molly’s labored breathing.

 

Molly took another deep breath, rubbing a hand over her chest trying to calm her fast beating heart.

 

“Yes John, just… Your call surprised me, that’s all.” 

 

(“What Molly? Were you watching a horror movie?”) Said John and she could picture him smiling.

 

“Actually I was… well. I was kind of talking to the spirit that possessed you laptop” she closed her eyes, knowing very well that her comment was, without doubt, going to upset John. She heard him taking a deep breath on the other side of the line.

 

ooooo

 

“You’ve been doing what?” John couldn’t believe what Molly had just said. 

 

He and Mary had just arrived to her house, apparently John was worried about her interactions with the stranger that had possesed his laptop.

 

“I know! I shouldn’t have done it, but…” Molly couldn’t help but feel a bit ashamed of what she had been doing, talking with  _ that _ person, telling him who she was and what she did for a living. “Well, it is really interesting, and I’ve kept the modem off the whole time, I even made sure that there was no other network in range at that moment. I don’t know how to explain it John, but whatever is happening here…”

 

“…Has no explanation. As far as we know there’s nothing that could possibly point out to someone hacking and manipulating your files, not even a home-made program” said Anthea from Molly’s table, where she sat checking John’s laptop. By now the beautiful woman had already ordered her assistant to completely open the machine to see its components and to put it back together and make it work again. They had checked all the possible problems the machine could have, their high tech software had been run and nothing seemed to be wrong with it. “We’ve done everything that can be done. Your machine is now flawless since we fixed the minor details that were already failing its as good as new. We also made sure to block your IP address, and our research yesterday gave no positive results, so as far as I can tell that your work is safe. We’ll keep watching if anything pops in the net and I’ll make sure to tell Molly. The only thing we can do right now is see if you have the same problem now that the check up is over.”

 

“Wait” said Mary from her chair, John was standing next to her, moving nervously and with a reproachful look in his eyes whenever he looked at Molly “So they have to try and communicate with that person again, to see if the problem has been fixed, but, what if it’s still there? If the other person responds, how could we know where it comes from?” she asked taking John’s hand in hers and looking up at him lovingly.

 

“The good thing about us still being here is that we will be able to work out something to solve it” said Anthea looking back at the man that was finishing the process on the laptop. “Now, who’s going to amaze us with their writing skills? John or Molly?”

 

Molly glanced briefly at John. He straightened a bit and walked over to it, sat down in front of it and opened the file.

 

“Seems like someone got creative last night” he said looking at Mary who giggled and looked at Molly apologetically. “Ok, let’s see what’s been going on here” said John reading part of the conversation Molly had had last night with  _ the hacker. _

 

John’s expression changed into one of concentration, he nodded once or twice, probably agreeing with what had been said in the text and then proceed.

 

“Let’s change the scene, see what kind of response we can get from  _ Sherlock _ ” he said making air quotes before starting to type and speak at the same time.

 

_ The following morning Sherlock woke up a bit disappointed with the lack of response from his interlocutor. He joined Hamish for lunch and decided that he wasn’t going to let it go just like that. He needed answers; he couldn’t bear not knowing what was going on. _

 

_ Surprisingly it was Hamish who brought the subject up. “So, I saw you had a proposal to write a book from someone on the internet” _

 

_ “You checked my e-mails?” Sherlock asked, a bit upset. _

 

_ “Isn’t that what I do?” Hamish asked in an irritated voice. _

 

Suddenly John gasped and stopped typing, probably taken by surprise when the text started appearing on the screen. Everyone in the room moved towards him at once, Anthea pulling out her mobile phone and giving a silent instruction to her assistant while she started recording the scene.

 

_ Sherlock looked at Hamish as if he didn’t know him. Hamish had a temper but always managed to control it even with Sherlock (in whose presence other people tended to loose theirs) _

 

_ Something really weird was going on here; whatever was happening it couldn’t be a coincidence. Hamish was breathing heavily, and his posture was defensive, however he had no reason to act that way. Unless... _

 

_ “This might sound weird if my assumptions are wrong but I’m guessing that you’re not Hamish right now, are you?” _

 

_ “I’m a bloody alien!” Hamish shouted. _

 

The group turned their heads to look at John who was almost trembling with anger.

 

“I don’t understand,” Anthea said, looking at the screen of her assistant’s phone “there’s no sign of any interference. It’s as if your machine was producing the text by itself.”

 

John huffed and crossed his arms in front of him. “So now I have to believe that somehow I’m really talking to bloody Sherlock Holmes! That is not possible; I don’t believe it for a second!”

 

_ “So now I have to believe that somehow I’m really talking to bloody Sherlock Holmes! That is not possible; I don’t believe it for a second!” Hamish’s words seemed to echo louder than possible. _

 

_ “John, of course! I wouldn’t believe it myself, but the only possibility left to explain this weird situation is that is really happening. You know I’ve heard this type of temper coming from you before, but it’s always your alter ego talking while you – Hamish - are asleep, I have to admit things would be more interesting if you were like this more often” Sherlock said. _

 

“Oh my god, he listened to you!” said Molly looking at the screen. 

 

“What? But that’s… how?” a frightened John said. He immediately stood up and ran out of the room. Mary turned around, excused herself and ran behind him.

 

Molly sat down in front of the computer without hesitation.

 

“Can you hear me?” she asked.

 

The screen remained still, the only thing moving was the pointer blinking on the screen.

 

“You should probably continue typing the conversation Molly” Anthea said with a shy smile.

 

“Right…” Molly said again, shaking her hands as she started to type. 

 

“Nervous?” Anthea asked, widening her smile and lifting an eyebrow.

 

“A little…” admitted Molly sighing before placing her fingers over the keyboard.

 

_ “Judging by your sudden silence I would say something happened” Sherlock said after a moment or two of observing Hamish’s expression turn blank. _

 

_ “So sorry, he seems unable to understand the whole situation” Hamish said robotically. _

 

Molly wrote as a response. She couldn’t understand it either but at least she was trying. 

 

_ Hamish posture and tone had changed, he didn’t look angry like before, Sherlock immediately noticed the change and smiled. _

 

_ “Hello again” he said, leaning over the table to take a clearer look at his friend “This is one of the most weird things that ever happened to me. So now I know why your number was useless last time. I wonder how that could work if it was possible. I suppose that my brother’s investigation about  _ Molly Hooper _ is also irrelevant now.” _

 

_ “Why?” Hamish asked moving his head a little. “Let me tell you why the situation here it’s even weirder. This is the first time ever that a character like you chooses to communicate with us the way you’re doing it now” _

 

_ “Oh, no if my reality is in someway like yours, then you must imagine what is like for me to know about your existence like this. It’s not something I choose to do, it just happened. Believe me Molly, if anyone entered right now they would think I drugged Hamish to have a crazy conversation with him,” Sherlock said sitting up straight in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. _

 

_ “How do you know it was me?” Hamish asked, surprised. _

 

_ “Out of two options, you are the most open to this situation. And, had you been somebody else you probably would have just told me so” Sherlock then frowned  and looked out the window in the other room. “Though it’s annoying to think that you’re a woman and hear you talking through Hamish. Is there a way I could meet you?” _

 

“Wha…” Molly looked at Anthea and her assistant, both of them looking at the screen of their gadgets with disbelieving looks. “What should I tell him? How would I do that?”

 

Anthea just shook her head unaware of what Molly had just read while she checked the screens of her assistant’s mobile and her own. Just then a soaking wet John entered the room closely followed by Mary. 

 

“What happened?” Molly asked standing up and walking towards John.

 

“He thought that maybe he had a microphone attached to his clothes and put himself under the water in your bathroom. Sorry for the mess.” Mary looked ashamed but stayed next to John who was shaking a little.

 

“But it didn’t work, did it?” said John looking at the floor, where water was still dripping from him.

 

“No, I’ve…” 

 

“Molly what the hell is going on here? Are we really talking with Sherlock Holmes? Please Anthea tell me you can explain it, I need to know what’s happening.” John said, pulling out a chair from the table they were working at and sitting down. Mary mumbled something about searching for a towel and walked out of the room again.

 

John sat in his chair pondering the whole situation, which to be honest, was something he never thought could happen to him. He sighed, leaned against the back of the chair, looked up at the ceiling, and thought. Maybe he should tell them…

 

It wasn’t a crime, at least he had never known of a similar case… No, it wasn’t time to panic, he just needed to process the whole thing and think. 

 

It was like a family tradition, some curiosity that they had developed for some generations now. It had been in the journal of one of his great, great, great grand father’s, how he had helped the real Sherlock Holmes to solve some crimes; the thrill, the doubt and the action involved in catching the criminals was all really interesting, but the most interesting part was the one describing his method. How Sherlock’s skills of observation and such had allowed him to help in that age.

 

However as much as the real Sherlock Holmes had helped the Yard to solve some mysteries, there was no mention of him in any of their reports. No one knew him. His help was unofficial and so it wasn’t acknowledged. John’s family had tried to find out more about this man, trying to find someway to let the world know about his accomplishments.

 

But all had been in vain, John had tried to do it as well, but in the modern times it was even more difficult to prove that the Consulting Detective had, in fact, existed. It was then that he had the idea to pay homage to him by writing about him; he had based some cases on those written in the old journal, and had changed details to make it appealing and modern.

 

It hadn’t given him troubles, at least not until now. He had already written two books, and was on his way to finishing the third. If he didn’t think he was being paranoid, he would have thought that what was happening - the real reason behind this whole  _ self-writing text _ situation - , was because of a ghost. Sherlock Holmes’s spirit was somehow communicating with them.

 

It was a very stupid idea. It couldn’t be. There had to be a different explanation. It was more rational to think that there was a hacker or a virus… But if for just a moment he allowed himself to believe it, then why was he communicating with them now? What was the purpose?

 

Anthea’s voice answering his previous question made him look up a bit confused.

 

“I don’t know what to say John. There’s no interference, no wireless network available for the moment and nothing has been plugged in or is wrong with your machine. Technically speaking, this shouldn’t be happening. Whatever this is… well, it seems like you’re really talking with Sherlock”

 

“But why is Sherlock able to listen to him?” Molly asked, looking from Anthea to John. “Do you think it’s because of Hamish?”

 

“Well, he’s been practically the only link we’ve had to communicate with him since all this started, so maybe it is” John said, crossing his arms over his chest and thinking.

 

“No…” Molly said in a low voice “I… I managed to communicate with him through e-mails before, don’t you think that’s… I don’t know: less awkward?”

 

“What have you two been speaking about?” Anthea asked, reaching for the laptop and turning it around to read the conversation.

 

“Nothing interesting at all,” Molly said, blushing slightly although she didn’t know why exactly.

 

“Oh my god!” Anthea exclaimed, covering her mouth with one hand and looking at Molly with a mischievous grin.

 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Molly asked in a defensive tone, feeling her cheeks grow redder by the second.

 

John rolled his eyes, and stood up and then walked around the table until he could read what was written on the screen. His eyebrows rose and for some reason Molly though that she saw a hint of amusement in his eyes.

 

Just then Mary entered the room again with a towel in her hands and went to put it over John’s shoulders. Without saying a word she glanced at the screen and her expression turned to one of surprise.

 

“Is that possible? How can he meet her? What can you do?” she asked John as if he knew somehow how to introduce Molly into a different dimension.

  
Everyone stayed silent for a minute; Anthea’s assistant bored with his lack of participation sat away from them and started playing with his mobile phone.


	4. Chapter 4

 

Sherlock had been pondering the situation since Hamish started speaking with him. He wasn’t really sure what kind of completely unreasonable situation he had just fallen in. At some point it had come to his mind the idea that maybe Hamish suffered from some personality disorder and that was why he acted that way. But then there were the e-mails and this woman: Molly Hooper.

 

Sherlock tended naturally to curiosity, which had lead him to study and had also allowed him to pursue this job. His deduction skills came directly from years of watching people, noticing details that other people usually ignored.

 

The whole situation was obviously strange for both parties. If he had to make a guess he would say that for them he was just – like Molly had said – a character in John’s book. Sherlock could only imagine what this was like for them. 

 

It wasn’t easy for him either. After the last e-mail he had sent to Molly without receiving an answer he had spent good part of the night trying to find out what was going on. Hamish was so deeply asleep that not even loud noises could awaken him.

 

He had thought about calling Wiggins to check up his computer, but since Hamish had actually brought up the subject he had to suspect that things weren’t that simple anymore. To think that his curiosity about Hamish’s sleep talking habit had gotten him into this problem was ironic. He had found himself in touch with a different dimension that had actually noticed his presence and had suggested that he was actually a creation of another man’s imagination.

 

However, he was still wondering why Molly Hooper of all people – at least in that dimension - seemed to be such and interesting person. Maybe it was because she wasn’t afraid of getting in touch with him by any means, maybe because she was clearly as curios as him about the situation, or because she was being friendly with him. Aside from Hamish he couldn’t say he had many friends, and she had talked to him without reservations, almost eager to know him.

 

The image in his mind presented him with the shape of a woman. A very basic representation if he had to be honest. Still he would picture a warm smile on her face, and somehow that made him smile too.

 

He looked up at Hamish who was now absentmindedly drinking a cup of tea; they had probably released him from their communication link, which could only mean one thing. Slowly he rose from his seat at the table and walked towards his desk, if he wasn’t mistaken, he was about to receive a new e-mail.

 

Ooooo

 

John grimaced at the screen of his laptop; he knew that Sherlock Holmes wasn’t really a character with whom many people would get along, and since he was supposed to know him better than anyone else he knew exactly the way to introduce him to Molly Hooper… maybe not just the way he was expecting.

 

John lifted the laptop and carried it to where he had been sitting at the table, not really paying attention to the other people in the room. He sat down and started typing, not really surprised to notice that Sherlock had anticipated his movements with the newly added text on the file.

 

_ Sitting down in front of his desk Sherlock opened the lid of his laptop and opened his e-mail account. In the other room Hamish stood up, took the dishes to the sink, and then started his usual  _ pre-job _ routine, as he called it. _

 

_ It didn’t take long for the machine to beep with the new e-mail notification; Sherlock clicked on the new message and read it.  _

 

_ “Here’s a little riddle for you. I’ve sent you three pictures; I know you can do this, so just by looking at them you must tell Molly apart.” _

 

_ The file had attached three photographs, each one of them was a picture of a woman. In the first image he saw a woman, probably in her early thirties, with short blonde hair, blue eyes and a huge smile on her face. In the back ground he could see a bookshelf. It was organized and clean, probably in an office. _

 

_ The second image was from a very different woman. This one was brunette, her long wavy hair fell down her shoulders framing her face. She was smiling, but her smile didn’t seem genuine. More like a knowing smile. On the basic stereotype she was very beautiful. Her eyes were a few shades clearer than the first woman’s had been, and she seemed to have been standing next to window, the light reflecting on the clear wall behind her.  _

 

_The next image was taking some time to fully download, and for a moment_ _Sherlock could only see the top of her head, noticing that this woman had a light brown hair that was not as dark as the one before. It was long and straight and he could see that it was tied on a ponytail. As the rest of the picture started to display he also noticed her brown eyes and a shy smile on her lips._

  
  


John was sure that without any other clues Sherlock would need sometime to tell him who was Molly… well, that was if he was the Sherlock Holmes he had built in his stories. He wasn’t sure about the other… To be honest he feared that this whole  _ situation _ wouldn’t have anything to do with him.  He hadn’t really expected him to come back as a ghost to haunt him and his friends like this.

 

Ooooo

 

Sherlock looked at the images he had just received; each one of those women could be Molly. Why it was so important for him to know her, was something he could not answer. Not that he was very much interested in knowing exactly how she looked ; he just needed a basic idea to picture her. Wouldn’t it be easier for them to introduce her like a character?

 

But this was probably John playing with him. Well if he wanted to play then he could play. He observed more closely the images, there must be some kind of clues he could find there that could led him the right direction.

 

The image of the blonde somehow made him smile. The woman in the image was obviously intelligent, but it was the way she was looking at the person taking the photo which caught his attention. She liked that person. There was calm and happiness in her eyes, and her big smile was probably dedicated to the man taking the picture. Also her short hair was short for practical purposes. Maybe she needed to do many activities when she was working and having it long would slow her. Taking a quick glimpse to the books behind her he noticed that most of them where medical related. It would be amazing to know that Molly managed to be an editor and a nurse at the same time. 

 

He couldn’t help but feel a bit uneasy with the knowledge that she felt something for the photographer and contented himself with the idea that maybe it was her brother or a good friend… Yes, a good friend. Of course there was always the possibility that she wasn’t Molly.

 

The next image showed a woman with the typical profile of someone who know more than what they tell. She had the stance of someone with power. Her picture had probably been taken in an office, and maybe it was part of the agency or enterprise she worked for. The wall was of a plain color but it had figures that were visible with the light. In the blurry but visible reflection on her eyes there was the outline of a window and the shadow of the photographer, but nothing else. This woman could be Molly, but there was something that gave him the feeling that she wouldn’t show that attitude, not even for a photo.

 

Sherlock took a moment to imagine Molly as the woman from either photo, talking to him. For some reason the lack of a voice made it even harder for him to picture her. Without more data, no personality cues, or a wider range of expressions it was just difficult to see her as a whole. But if he got it wrong… well, somehow that made him think that Molly wouldn’t be happy about it.

 

Not that it really mattered. For all he knew she couldn’t reach him in this world in a physical way. It was almost as if she didn’t exist at all. That thought made him feel something weird, like a pressure in his chest, an emptiness that he couldn’t completely ignore.

 

He shook that away. He couldn’t start wondering about the why’s and how’s when he had something else to do. He then double clicked on the last picture; the image enlarged itself on the screen of his laptop.

 

Starting with her long brown hair and the rebel tresses that escaped her ponytail, moving down the shape of her face, the pair of brown eyes and the way her lips curved in that smile of hers that made her look like a young girl. This woman looked like someone anyone could get along with. She gave the impression of being a bit distracted, but he could tell she was intelligent and hard worker. 

 

He then looked at the background of her picture. As with the first image this photo had been taken inside an office. Behind the woman he could see a shelf; there was a ceramic figure of a cat playing with a butterfly next to a printer, and then right below that he could see manuscripts. Some of them were just stapled together, some others in a more book like form. They had dates but, most importantly, there was only one cover he could read. Right under the title was John Watson’s name.

 

He enjoyed for a moment the feeling that realization brought and smiled up at the smiling woman in the picture.  _ Nice to meet you Molly Hooper _ , he thought.

 

Ooooo

 

“What are you two talking about now? John?” Molly asked, shifting nervously on her chair.

 

John’s expression had been changing gradually since he had started typing. At first he had written with a triumphant smile on his face, and then when he had stopped he had looked at the screen with something akin to smugness in his expression.

 

Obviously something had happened. It was John’s turn to start reading and he didn’t look so happy anymore. Right now his expression was hard to read. he looked confused, not angry or insulted, but they could also tell that he was deep in thought at what he was looking at on the screen.

 

After a moment or two he cleared his throat and turned the laptop in Molly’s direction. She took it and searched for the last bit that had been added to the text. Both Mary and Anthea moved to read by her side. It didn’t take long for them to find out what John had done and look up at him who just shrugged and gestured them to keep going.

 

Their expressions changed when they read the part that described them in Sherlock’s perspective, both Mary and Anthea looking impressed at the screen. Molly couldn’t help but blush. Even when he was describing Mary or Anthea, Sherlock had mentioned her, and she didn’t know what to think. His solution to the problem seemed to be obvious, but there was something that just…

 

“I didn’t send any images,” John said abruptly, “I didn’t send anything, so how could he look at the pictures? How did he know what photographs I was thinking about? How?”

 

The three women looked at each other, finally realizing what had John in such state.

 

“Do you have those pictures in your computer?” Anthea asked, looking professional again.

 

“No, I don’t. I have Mary’s picture in my wallet, I took Molly’s photo when I met her and it’s in my phone in my contact list. And Anthea’s picture is the one Molly showed me from an article in a magazine. I just pictured them in my mind when I made the description and t-the…,” John struggled a bit trying to give a name to the ghost they had been talking with, but unable to allow himself to do it, “ _ he _ even noticed things I didn’t mention. What the hell is going on?”

 

There was silence in the room for a moment, all of them feeling a numbing cold on their extremities; the situation had just become weirder. It was one thing picturing a hacker communicating with them. At least that idea let them think that it was a human being in a different room. But when every external factor had been removed and impossible things happened, what were they supposed to believe now?

  
“John. When I met you, you said there was more to Sherlock Holmes that just some crime solving. At the moment I thought it was just what you had in mind for the future of your books… is there anything else?” asked Molly rubbing one of her arms.


	5. Chapter 5

Molly lay in bed that night, fully awake and going over John’s story again and again. It was true that if John had started writing about a historical character his books would have had to contain different data, photographs, files, pictures even. But seeing as he just had some journals and little data about who had once been, in real life Sherlock Holmes, it was hard for him to prove his existence, and gave his books foot for discussion and critics that would demerit his job. So the option to publish his stories as fictional had been better.

 

His reasons, however, didn’t explain the events that they were going through now. Molly was struggling to believe that they were dealing with some kind of ghost. Because if that was the case, then why would he show up now? Why would he believe in the reality that John had created? Why not just wander their world along with them? Why answer as if he was really part of the book?

 

It made her sad somehow, to think that Sherlock’s spirit was trapped in a reality that he couldn’t understand. Trying to make contact with a world that he had already left behind, probably wanting to get in touch with people once again, to feel alive one more time.

 

That seemed unlikely, at least for the kind of person that Sherlock was supposed to be. Molly’s mind went through many different possibilities, all moving through the fantasy and supernatural world. Imagining that he was actually in a different dimension, alive and well, and that he was going through this just to get in touch with her made her fell a bit better.

 

Unaware of when it happened, Molly fell into a restless sleep. Her mind was still showing her different scenarios that could, somehow, manage to turn the sad fact that Sherlock Holmes was probably just a ghost, into a lie. That thought was unbearable.

 

Suddenly she found herself sitting at her desk in her office, the fresh breeze and sunlight entered through the window and made the white curtains wave slightly. But she wasn’t alone; standing with his back to her was a man, a tall man with dark curly hair. He was wearing a deep blue shirt and black trousers. The facts that she didn’t know him and that he was at her office made her gasp, drawing the man’s attention towards her. 

 

Molly’s ability to speak was suddenly forgotten by the sight in front of her when he turned around. The man was handsome, very,  _ very _ handsome, his eyes were tinted blue, but she could see the change in them when the sunlight made them almost green. His features, starting with the tousled curls on his head, framing his beautiful eyes, his pale skin and perfectly shaped lips just added to the impression of his lean form and elegant stance. She had never met a man that looked like him. 

 

In that moment she remembered that she didn’t know him, although she wasn’t feeling anxious or scared in his presence. She just felt slightly nervous, unable to keep from blushing when he smiled at her. Without saying a word, he walked towards her and took the sit in front of her.

 

“It’s amazing how the mind works sometimes” he said suddenly. His deep voice made her jump a little, giving her goose bumps while he examined her with his eyes. Was it okay for her to feel attracted to a stranger?  

 

She should be asking him who he was, but something told her that it wasn’t the moment. Also she didn’t want to break the spell. It wasn’t awkward, but at the same time it wasn’t a normal situation.

 

“Where’s that shy smile of yours Molly?” he asked, standing up once again and moving to stand right next to her. He turned her chair in his direction so she was facing him. Softly, almost tenderly, he placed a hand under her chin and tilted her head upwards. “Smile” he said in an almost whisper, and she couldn’t help but do as he said. Who was she to deny such a beautiful man a simple smile?

 

A light shade of pink colored his cheeks, but he moved immediately, straitening up and taking a deep breath.

 

“Who are you?” the words floated out of her mouth like smoke, written in the air and fading slowly. Her voice sounded calmer than she felt.

 

“I thought you would know, but you’ve never seen me before. I should thank John, for without that picture of yours I wouldn’t be able to imagine you in my mind palace at all.” He extended his hand and shook hers before she even realized she had taken his.

 

“Sherlock” she said, suddenly realizing who she was talking with. Again, her words floated in the air like smoke. He nodded, pulling at her hand to make her stand up.

 

“Are you really so tiny?” he said looking her at arms length and taking in her short height. Molly blushed again.

 

“I’m probably not very tall, but I’m a strong woman!” she said, letting him know that she could defend herself if needed.

 

“I’m sure. It’s just…” he looked at her, his eyes locking with hers for a second. “Nevermind”

 

“Is this a dream?” Molly asked, though she knew the answer. Sherlock was with her, in her office. This couldn’t be anything but a dream.

 

“Is something like that” he said, letting go of her hand. “It’s a dream state for me; I’m dormant, but not asleep. Like this I’m aware of the world to a certain point, but I’m analyzing and arranging the thoughts in my head at the same time. You’re now part of my mind palace Molly Hooper”

 

Molly frowned at that statement. It wasn’t possible; this was  _ her _ dream, she could move freely in here, think on her own, she wasn’t just a fragment of someone else’s mind… But then, shouldn’t Sherlock be acting more the way she would imagine? How could he be so independent in a dream?

 

“No. I’m sure is the other way. You’re a figment of my imagination Sherlock, I don’t even know you. I’m sure this must be a dream.” Molly looked up at him and found he was looking at her almost with the same confusion she felt.

 

Sherlock moved a few steps away from her, looking at her quizzically. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed loudly.

 

“This… This thing, whatever it is happening… is getting too far now” he said pacing the place nervously.

 

“What are you ta…?” Molly started to say, but was cutoff by him.

 

“This Molly, don’t you see?” Sherlock said, shaking his hands the way she did to remain calm and turning to face the window again. He was nervous, probably more than her, but he hid it well. 

 

Molly stayed in silence for a moment, trying to understand what he was talking about… Maybe it was the part of her mind that was actually sleeping that stopped her from seeing it in the first place, or maybe it was the distracting man accompanying her. Yes,  _ this _ … was more than just some words on a screen.

 

“And I thought the words floating out of your mouth were just part of the way my mind created you; I guess it is in some way, but your voice…” Sherlock glanced at her before shaking his head.

 

Finally fully realizing what was happening Molly also sighed, trying to calm her fast beating heart before talking to him. She was feeling a bit dizzy with all this happening.

 

“I… I understand this is…  _ weird, _ ” her voice was low but calm and it made him look at her again, this time the floating words had disappeared.

 

“You’re brave… and clever” he said, crossing his arms. “Most people would be terrified of being in a situation like this, but you understand it. I can see the fear in your eyes, but you’re not running way… Don’t misunderstand me; I’m also having troubles dealing with this. I’m confused enough trying to understand that for you I’m just a character in a book, to deal with the fact that we’re in a...  _ bonded dream _ or something like that… Telepathy maybe… I don’t really know about these things.” Molly smiled again at this, feeling slightly calmer now that he had confessed their shared confusion.

 

“I wish I knew what this is” Molly said, rubbing her neck with one hand, Sherlock seemed to focus on that for a moment but said nothing. “I-I’ve been talking to John…” This was probably a bad idea, but she had the feeling that he needed to know.

 

“I suppose is something I couldn’t get to hear” Sherlock said swaying a bit on his heels and prompting her to continue.

 

“No. He asked us to turn off his laptop before saying this… so, I suppose… No” Molly had seen Sherlock’s expression change while she said that. As if being linked with a machine wasn’t something he was happy with. She could understand; she wouldn’t like it either.

 

“What did he say?” he asked, his eyes making her feel a bit uncomfortable with the way he was looking at her.

 

“He said that his books, the cases, the  _ drama _ wasn’t just a story. John mentioned that there used to be a real Sherlock Holmes in our world and that one of his family members had actually helped him to solve cases years ago. He had journals, different descriptions of what they did and how  _ he _ solved them – how Sherlock Holmes solved them.”

 

Sherlock had allowed his arms to fall at his sides again, looking at her with renewed curiosity.

 

“What do you mean by that?” Sherlock’s voice was expressionless, as if he was guarding himself from showing how he felt about this new information.

 

“That maybe you were real… once. I don’t know what that means for…” Molly stopped there, feeling once again uncomfortable with this whole situation. What was she expecting with this? Was she just hopping this would become real somehow? However she looked at it, if he had been the real Sherlock Holmes, he wasn’t alive anymore. Sherlock was a fictional character now… It could never be real. “I know there’s an explanation for…  _ this _ , somewhere”

 

He stared at her and then looked down at himself, almost as if he feared he would dissolve in front of her any moment, maybe doubting his own existence too.

 

“John also said that the place where he – umh… where Sherlock - used to live wasn’t far from his house, that he would take us there”

 

“Us?”

 

Molly opened her mouth to answer, wondering for a moment if he was asking her about  _ them _ , or if he was asking about Mary, Anthea and John.  _ Stop fantasizing Molly! _

 

“I suppose you’re taking me with you… and you’re little team to solve the  _ case _ . I’ve been told I’m good at it,” he said, smiling a little when she nodded.

 

Molly felt she was blushing again. How was it that this impossible man could make her feel this way?  _ Are you sure this is not a dream? _

 

“I’m not sure either…” Sherlock said, making her realize she had said that aloud. Walking towards her once again, he hesitated just a moment before wrapping her in his arms. She felt awkward just for a moment, but then relaxed into his embrace.

 

“Solve this one for me Molly, I know you can, either you do it to give rest to my soul,  _ finally _ … or to prove magic really exist in this universe.” Molly wanted to ask many things.  _ How…? What if…? _

  
He inhaled deeply at the top of her head… and Molly couldn’t help but notice she could feel his warmth surround her, so close, so real…


	6. Chapter 6

The following morning Molly received a call from John, asking her to meet him and Mary at a tube station so they could visit  _ the place _ . She was still dealing with all the strange dream stuff to actually hear what he had in mind, but she agreed and a couple of hours later they were already in their way to Baker Street. 

 

Once there they had to talk to the owner of the building, Mrs. Hudson was a lovely lady who was not currently renting the space over her own flat so had no problem with letting them in. They had told her that they were doing some research for historical accuracy in one of John’s books, but woman kept offering the place to John and Mary to live.

 

There was some furniture in the flat, enough for any visitors to be able to sit while they looked around but little enough for it to be able to be moved once it was rented. Mrs. Hudson left them with a promise of tea and a discount on the first month’s of rent, if they accepted.

 

After that they all took a sit in the available places in the room in silence and looked at each other. Molly had the laptop with her and was hugging it against her chest.

 

“So, what’s the plan now? What are we going to do?” Mary asked once the silence extended to and awkward one.

 

“I guess we can write something, see what happens” John said. He then turned a bit and pulled an old journal from one of his pocket “Maybe this can help us too. I guess old Hamish Watson wasn’t very keen of writing dates because there’s none in here, but he was good at describing the day, almost as if he was telling it to someone else.”

 

Mary extended her hand and took the journal from him. She opened it to a random page and read in silence. “I don’t think it will help us a lot, but maybe it can make him remember… well, if he is actually the Sherlock Holmes that is referenced here”

 

“Right” John said. He looked at Molly and extended his arms so she could give him the laptop.

 

He opened the lid of the machine and started it. Surprisingly, it didn’t take long for it to have boot up and load the system and even before John could do something the file was opening itself and presenting them with the blinking pointer at the bottom of the page.

 

“Well, someone’s eager to start” John said as words started appearing on the screen.

 

ooooo

 

Sherlock had just opened his eyes from the strangest mind palace visit in his life. Why? Why all of this had to be connected with Molly? He wasn’t one for sentimentalism, much less to be confused in the face of strange things. He had faced what seemed to be impossible riddles before, although none of it had ever been like this one.

 

He knew now that the connection was linked to Molly, more even than with John, but why? It could have been anyone else; John was obviously a better choice than Molly, because he was the writer, the creator of this world. However he had not been linked with him in his mind, it had been her. The communication had become more fluid once Molly took charge of it, and if he had to bet, none of this would have happened if he had asked for someone else instead of her.

 

He pictured her again with his eyes closed; Molly, sitting down on his chair and looking, distracted, at something on his coffee table. He had seen it even in that  _ dream _ . She was an editor, but she wanted to write. Maybe she had done it before but something had happened that stopped her. He knew also about her love for crime stories and her attempt to study medicine at some point in her life, he knew about her love for cats and that she was loyal and humble and pretty…

 

_ Wait… what…? _ Sherlock shook his head and paced the place once again. There had to be something. They were somehow connected, but where was that link? Sherlock had never actually considered that a woman might be part of his life, in any way, but Molly was, and it was in such an extraordinary way that it probably had a different origin.

 

The question was how. She could be his opposite from a different dimension and it just coincided with John opening some kind of  _ magic portal _ –oh, he hated those words- to allow their communication. Or maybe she was like his soul mate –of course the woman had to be from a different dimension – and this was the way they were going to get to met each other without ever being able to properly interact! And what about the theory that maybe he had been alive in that world once, he was from the past and she from the future and he had to accept that he was a ghost… It was all rubbish!... Or… was it?

 

If he had been alive in that world and he had lived in a place like this – because she had said they were going to visit the place where _ he _ had lived – then there was still part of him in that room. Maybe in the dust, stuck at a molecular level to the walls…

 

He wasn’t sure if the logical way he was intending to see it was calming him, but it was better than thinking that it had to do with magic.

 

Ooooo

 

“Yes, that’s Sherlock. He’s not going to suddenly accept that there’s magic involved,” John said, “He’s all cold logic and real facts. This is not a fantasy story either, it never has been.” John seemed to be very in tune with the way Sherlock had been thinking, because John had read it all out loud while it appeared.

 

“I don’t think you’re getting that right John” Molly said, feeling a bit upset and frustrated all of the sudden. “I think he’s looking for a way to mix both. After all, if you could find traces of him in this room a ghost could appear, or something else amazing could allow him to communicate.”

 

“You let fantasy rule your mind sometimes Molly. As I told you this is not a fantasy story, it has never been…” John stopped then when  words started to appeare on the screen again.

 

_ “You stopped writing a crime story long ago…” _

 

ooooo

 

The silence in the flat had enveloped him only for a moment when his mind tried to put everything in order. This had to be solved somehow and for that he needed everything in order. It had only taken a few seconds of it for him to notice the subtle whispers around him; he paid attention to it and was able to catch Hamish… John’s voice in the air. He was talking, about logic and facts, and magic…

 

What actually surprised him was the sound of a second voice; he felt his stomach do something weird, like a flip of some kind when he recognized Molly’s voice and heard her defend magic and different possibilities.

 

Was it like this to fall in love? Without noticing, without being able to understand why it meant so much? Maybe she was actually going to try, like in that dream, to prove that magic existed, that he wasn’t a ghost. Because deep inside he didn’t want to be a ghost either, at least not while she existed somewhere.

 

If he was logic, she could be magic.

 

“You stopped writing a crime story long ago…” Sherlock said out loud, it was time to throw logic to a corner.

 

If he was being able to hear their voices around him, it must mean they were already there. Good, they could help him.

 

Ooooo

 

The lights blinked in the living room, making John, Mary and Molly look up at the ceiling. John’s expression was one of fear, but Molly’s had lit up with a smile.

 

“See? I told you he was going to do something; if this is not magic I don’t know what it is!” Molly stood up and asked out loud “What should we do? How can we help you?”

 

“Oh! He’s answering! Let’s give John a few seconds Molly, I know we can do this!” Mary exclaimed. She had turned the laptop towards her and was reading the rapidly appearing text, while John kept looking at the ceiling with a blank expression.

 

“What is he saying?” Molly asked.

 

“He says: You’ve been creating everything through this, how about you write about your own world and try to make something happen? Take me there!” Mary read with a beaming smile, moving a little to allow Molly to take the keyboard and start writing.

 

This time Molly shook her hands with decision before starting to type…

 

Ooooo

 

Sherlock could feel that something was about to happen. There was a slow breeze entering the flat, making the curtains wave and the lights dim a bit. A storm was about to start.  He hadn’t really thought that the trick of turning on and off the lights was going to work, but it had. Now it was Molly’s turn to make everything happen.

 

Ooooo

 

Mary was amazed by what was happening, on one hand John was completely shocked with what was happening, and Molly was writing with such conviction that she seemed to have planed this.

 

Things were finally happening in the real world as well, judging by the wind that was making everything in the room move a little. It didn’t take long for it to start forming a whirlwind in the middle of the room, messing Mary’s and Molly’s hair.

 

John had opted for staying silent while witnessing these events. Inside the whirlwind particles of dust could be seen, but among them there were some shiny spots of white light. It didn’t take long for them to start forming a shape, a male shape.

 

Molly kept looking over at what she was creating; the details of the appearance of the man in the whirlwind were bit by bit making it look more real. Mary gasped when the shape suddenly moved, the features on his face forming a smirk as he looked around.

 

The wind slowed down, leaving the almost tangible man standing in the middle of the room.

 

“So, you chose to prove that magic really exists! Hello Molly” said the almost holographic image in the middle of the room.

 

Molly had stopped typing and was now smiling at her creation, at Sherlock Holmes as she had brought him to the world.

 

“Hello Sherlock…” she said breathlessly “I still can’t think of how to make you real, you’re here but…”

 

“You’ll figure it out” Sherlock turned around, nodding his head at Mary and looking at John. He then looked at the room, the walls, the ceiling, and then back at Molly. “So I really used to live here then. I never understood why I was so important to Hamish. He had more friends. He was my only friend though. I’m glad you used those things to bring me here Molly, though there’s still not a real connection between you and me… Something’s missing.”

 

“And what do you think that is?” Mary asked. The way Sherlock had spoke had made them notice the slight shine that was also present on the old journal and the walls.

 

Sherlock turned around. He looked down at his feet, not sure if he could move from that very spot, but still he straightened and stepped forward. “That mirror,” he said pointing at the mirror that was placed above the fireplace, “it was mine, has it been here ever since?”

 

As he approached the mirror and his reflection appeared on it, they could see the difference. In the mirror he seemed completely solid, as if he were really in the room and not like a hologram. John finally moved then, going to the mirror and looking at both their reflections in it. He seemed to have an idea then, because he turned around and told Molly to go stand in that same place.

 

“I used to have a theory as a child; it helped me image adventures when I was a kid. I used to think that a mirror was the entrance to all those different worlds that were created in books. In dreams I would approach a mirror and enter it to access any story I wanted. Maybe if I…” John scratched his head and shrugged.

 

Molly smiled up at Sherlock, and he looked back at her. There was some kind of fascinating feeling between them right now that was hard to describe. Neither Molly nor Sherlock would ever be able to fully tell what it was, but it was amazing.

 

“I think it’s a good idea, it could work” Molly could feel she was shaking but the big smile on her face was still firmly there. 

 

“I don’t think that’s what’s been missing” Sherlock said, causing Molly to frown. “No Molly, you should actually pay attention sometimes” he said lifting a hand towards her face but stopping before making contact. “The thing that has always been missing here is the  _ connection _ between you and me…”

 

“A-and… what do you suggest?” asked Molly, now feeling a bit frustrated for the lack of ideas to do that. However Sherlock just smiled ant pointed at the mirror. 

 

“If you’re theory is right, John.” Sherlock said glancing at John for just a second “We should be able to connect both worlds through it, but we will need to also connect through here” Sherlock said placing his hand on the surface of the mirror and gesturing her to do the same.

 

“How?” Molly was looking at their hands, and the reflection of them in the mirror. It was there that she saw Sherlock move towards her. She turned her head to him and in that moment his lips pressed against hers. Her eyes closed instantly as she allowed the kiss to deepen a bit. She perceived some light on her eyelids, but she concentrated on the kiss instead of opening her eyes.

 

Mary’s loud encouraging scream brought her back to reality where she was surprised to find herself in front of a now solid and real Sherlock Holmes, who was smiling at her with adoration.

 

At that moment they all noticed John lifting his hands as if in defeat from the keyboard of his laptop. “And I guess that’s the end of it. What am I going to do now? My best character has just escaped his  _ own _ story.” Sherlock chuckled as he brought Molly into his arms and hugged her close. 

 

“Don’t worry John. We’ll look for some good cases to solve and you can write about them. I guess that’ll be even more interesting and you’ll get to be part of the action” Sherlock suggested, kissing Molly’s forehead.

 

Mrs. Hudson was a bit surprised to see four people leave the flat instead of three, but she said nothing about it. Sherlock hadn’t let go of Molly ever since they had kissed. It was a bit weird, but Molly wasn’t complaining.

 

It was only at night, after they had agreed that they would stay at her house that she asked him about it.

 

“Are you ever going to let go of me?” It had been in a playful way, but Sherlock’s sad expression worried her.

 

“It’s just, I don’t know if this will last. What if I’ll only be here as long as…? I don’t want to disappear again,” he confessed holding her hands in his.

 

“And I’m sure you wont,” Molly assured him, “There’s a deeper connection between you and me and you know it. Between the lines, beyond every word we’ve ever said. I knew yours was a story worth my time the moment John placed it on my desk, and I’m not letting that change now that I’m in it with you.” Standing of her tiptoes she reached up to him and kissed him again.

 

“Maybe it had been like this all the time” he said, letting her go as she made her way to the bathroom to change her clothes. “In danger of sounding far too romantic for my own good, I’d say my spirit actually waited in that journal. It was waiting for you to be born. If things were different, and we were all stories, you could say I was waiting for your character to be written. As part of my story, or maybe as a sequel. The only sequel I would read.” He smirked at the blush that appeared on her face. “Now hurry, I’m going to look for a spare pair of glasses”

 

“Why?”

  
“I’m sure there’s a lot to read on you and I’m going to find every word under those clothes!” Molly laughed at his words. Oh, this man was a whole new story, and she couldn’t wait to get it started!


End file.
